


I'm Weak (What's Wrong With That?)

by liverstomp



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Rimming, Shower Sex, Smut, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 09:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liverstomp/pseuds/liverstomp
Summary: For a long time now, Jihoon has been weaker to Junhui’s demands than he'd like to be.





	I'm Weak (What's Wrong With That?)

It's 3:41 in the afternoon when Jihoon gets a message, a tiny Skype window blip in the bottom corner of his computer screen. He clicks it without thinking, without registering, knowing already who's sent it before he lays eyes on even a single word. His eyes scan the line of text in one second, process it in the next, ponder it in the third.

 

_Are you busy right now?_

 

He checks over it again a few times before lowering his fingers to the keys and typing back a response, slow and lethargic. He's not answering the question, and he's sure Junhui knows it already before he's hit send.

 

_Why are you awake?_

 

The thing with Junhui is that he has a lot of family in China, and he's also got parents with enough money to spend on trips to China at least two or three times a year, and that means sometimes he'll find himself headed on a three week trip to the homeland with no more than a week’s warning for stupid things like his 22nd birthday, which is tomorrow, and Jihoon will be left at home, passportless and alone and usually more than just a little horny after the first few days. This time, he's made it almost two weeks without getting too bent out of shape, or more like a week and a half, and he's been distracting himself from how much he misses Junhui by focusing instead on how earth-shatteringly bored he is now that classes are over and how all there is to do is work and then come home to an empty apartment. He watches the typing dots flicker to life on the screen, waits for the next message while he sticks another pretzel between his teeth.

 

_Can't sleep_

 

_Why not?_

 

_Thinking about you_

 

Jihoon hums, chews the pretzel thoughtfully before swallowing and replacing it with another. The time difference between them right now is twelve hours, and if it's nearly four in the morning, Jihoon knows well enough there's only one thing on Junhui’s mind. He's careful about typing his next message, slower than he needs to be, knows Junhui is waiting for it with his breath held.

 

_Really now?_

 

_I'm horny_

 

A soft chuckle sifts through Jihoon’s lips. He's always known how to get right to the point.

 

_So forward_

 

_You were gonna force me to say it anyway, weren't you?_

 

His lips curl into a grin at the assumption, and he's about to reply with a concise _yes_ when another message dings to signal its arrival.

 

_Can I call you?_

 

_Sure_

 

Not a minute passes before the annoying pop of the default Skype ringtone is echoing through his vacant bedroom, and not three seconds pass before Jihoon is cutting it short with acceptance of the call. An audio-only call to cooperate with the distance. Junhui’s profile picture stares at him from the screen, an old picture from before they ever met each other, probably something like high school. Jihoon’s glad he doesn't look the same now as he did then. Too scrawny and baby-faced.

“Hey,” Junhui whispers, low and soft and right next to the microphone. He sounds like he needs to get some sleep more than anything else, but there's a less than subtle whine of need dancing under his tone that Jihoon guesses is the reason he's calling. It sets a little something in his own loins stuttering. Junhui clears his throat quietly before speaking again. “How are you?”

 _Bored_ , Jihoon wants to say. _Lonely,_ he wants to say. _Probably just as horny as you are_ , he wants to say. “Fine,” he says instead, and Junhui chuckles darkly. He's always been too good at knowing when Jihoon isn't saying what he really means.

“Do you miss me?” he asks. Jihoon can tell by his voice that he's probably smirking, probably has his hand down his pants already, probably already leaking a little precum at just the thought of hearing Jihoon’s voice after so long. The mental image turns him on more than he cares to admit, drives his own hand past the hem of his trousers, dipping below his briefs. He sighs softly into his shoulder when he feels his own cold fingers wrap around his shaft.

“You already know I do,” he says, and Junhui hums, low and deep and sexy. Maybe he starts stroking himself, too. God, does Jihoon want to see it. “Where are you right now?”

“The bathroom,” he whispers. “I don't want to wake anyone up.”

“How nasty,” Jihoon scolds. Junhui laughs once, short and hard.

“You love it when I'm nasty,” he drawls, heavy like honey, voice melting into Jihoon’s ears and down into his pants, through his palm as he strokes himself once. He breathes hard at the sensation, cock tender due to not seeing much action in the past two weeks, sighs out a laugh to chase it down.

“Are you touching yourself right now?” Jihoon asks, thumbing the head of his cock, and he listens for the telltale hiss through Junhui’s teeth on the other end, muffled by eight thousand miles of useless distance and the cuff of Junhui’s wrist.

“And you say I'm forward,” Junhui tells him. A spastic hitch in his breathing gives him away before he’s even said it, but he does anyway. “I am.” The line goes dead silent for a moment, and Jihoon thinks he hears something like Junhui licking his lips, but all he sees is that ridiculous picture of Junhui from high school looking back at him from the computer screen. It's almost enough to kill his hard-on, but not quite. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” He hears Junhui groan, softly, sweetly, imagines his hand tugging at his dick to tease and mimics it with his own hand, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“God,” Junhui sighs. “I wish I could see you.” He’s whispering to keep down how close the words are getting to a moan, but Jihoon can still hear it, still feel it crawling under his skin like fire. He strokes himself again. “I bet you're gorgeous right now.” Jihoon almost laughs; loose sweats and the same shirt he's been wearing for the past three days isn't his own personal idea of gorgeous, but Junhui’s always been a bit of an odd ball. This trashed look might be right up his alley.

“When do you come home?” Jihoon asks, doing his best to keep his breathing steady as he runs his fingers along the underside of his dick in feathery strokes, quickening heartbeat resounding through every cell in his body.

“Ten days,” Junhui says like he's counting, gasping a little bit on the end. “God, I miss you.” Jihoon listens to the sound of his whiny breathing for a few more beats, spreading precum from the head of his dick over the rest of the shaft and closing his eyes at the feeling. “I want you so bad right now,” he groans, soft and sweet. “I need you.”

“If I were there,” Jihoon starts, a little out of breath, “what would you want me to do?” An audible breath sucks in through Junhui’s nose; Jihoon can tell by the way it whistles. Sometimes these microphones pick up the smallest little details.

“I would want you,” he begins around ragged breathing, “to push me up against the wall in the shower and fuck the life out of me.”

“The shower?” Jihoon gasps, stroking himself a little harder. Junhui groans like electricity, and if Jihoon closes his eyes, he feels like his lips are right against his ear.

“I've always wanted to try it,” he admits in a dark whisper that crawls up Jihoon’s spine, curls it into a stiff arch. “When the water’s falling and it's so loud, but I want us to be louder.” Jihoon’s cock twitches.

“I hear it feels like drowning,” he says. Junhui pants a laugh into his ear, probably quickening the pace of his own strokes while he does, and the sound urges Jihoon to do the same, shallow bucks of the hips into his fist.

“I don’t mind drowning,” he whispers, and Jihoon moans at the way it throbs in between his legs, under his fingertips, turns his knees to jelly while his hips strain forward with minds of their own. _You’re so dirty_ , he wants to say, but he can’t get his mouth to cooperate. For the moment, all he’s able to do is choke on a strangled moan and keep up the slick friction in his underwear.

“When you get back,” Jihoon mutters, eyes squeezed shut, “we can try it.” Junhui moans, too loud, stifles it immediately, and Jihoon thrusts into his hand again, one spastic jerk that throws his head back.

“God,” Junhui whines, probably into his palm more than the microphone, but it comes through loud and clear to set Jihoon’s nerves aflame. “I want it so bad,” he pants, frantic, tongue tripping over his words. “Your cock so deep in me I can’t focus on anything else, your hands everywhere, all over me, touching me...” He cuts himself off with a shallow moan at the same time as Jihoon does. Through the speakers on his laptop, Jihoon can hear muffled slick sounds as Junhui strokes himself, edging closer to his orgasm, and his cheeks stain deep red, burn the skin right off. He’ll never tell Junhui how much he loves that sound.

“I know,” Jihoon rasps, “everywhere you like.” His hand on his dick is a blur, yet he can’t get it to go fast enough. “I can make you scream.” Junhui grunts in acknowledgement, urging him to say more. Jihoon wets his lips slowly. “Do you want to scream?”

“Yes,” Junhui breathes. “God, yes. Til my throat’s raw. I want you to…” He chokes, maybe not sure what he wants to say, gulps before speaking again. “I want you so bad,” he repeats, and Jihoon can feel the lust dripping off every word.

“I’ll fuck you til you scream,” Jihoon tells him, throat dry and aching, skin on fire. “Til you can’t walk. As much as you want.” As he speaks, he feels the base of his gut start to tighten, heat start to build up, fevered breaths heave out of his lungs. He feels like his skin might burn to ashes and flutter away.

“I want that,” Junhui begs, slapping sounds getting louder as he bucks into his hand with fury, filling Jihoon’s ears with nothing but that disjointed music.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” Jihoon says, almost cries, hand frantic as he strokes his length, hips tremulous and jolting. “Tell me how much you miss my cock. Tell me how much you want it in you.” Under normal circumstances, Jihoon would never be able to say that, but at a time like this, when he’s so desperate for release and he knows just a little bit more of Junhui’s blissed out voice will undo him, it rolls off the tongue just fine. Under normal circumstances, Junhui would never indulge it, but right now, he seems to be in the same state of desperation as Jihoon.

“Enough to die,” he mewls, needy and low and quiet, a mess in Jihoon’s ears. “I miss you like crazy. I want you inside me so bad.” A pause to gather his thoughts, spill them all out onto the airwaves. “I want you to fill me all the way up, pound into me so hard I feel like dying, and your c—” He gasps, chokes it back down. “Your cum—”

“Fuck,” Jihoon moans into his arm.

“—inside me.” Jihoon thinks he might die. “I want you to fuck me and leave it all inside, let me—ah, Jihoon, I—oh my God, I’m gonna—fuck, Jihoon, I’m c—” A loud groan cuts him off, loud enough that Jihoon’s afraid one of Junhui’s relatives might have woken up and heard it, but not afraid enough to quit stroking himself, to stop the blinding race toward climax.

“Shit,” he whispers, and with one final tug, cum is spilling onto his hand, running over his fingers while he shudders at the waves of pleasure rocking through his body. He listens to Junhui’s labored breathing from the other side of the world while the feeling fizzles out until there's nothing but a warm glow in his lower half and a sticky mess in his fingers. Junhui yawns.

“I needed that,” he says, spent, and Jihoon can almost see the lopsided smile that must be on his face, the way his eyelids must be drooping. “I love you, you know.” Something about hearing that still makes Jihoon blush after all this time, the way he throws it out when least expected. It hardly feels appropriate when they just jacked themselves off on an audio-only Skype call, but Jihoon lets it go.

“I miss you,” Jihoon tells him, and Junhui’s laugh in response is slow and lazy, minutes from falling out of consciousness.

“At least say it back,” he says. Jihoon can't help smiling, eyes flitting to the empty white canvas of the ceiling.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jihoon mutters. “I love you, too.” It's still a little stiff in his mouth when he tries to say it, but he's working on getting better. In the wake of his comedown, he feels a nap creeping up on him, stretching his mouth into a yawn. “You should get some sleep.”

“Wait for me to get home, okay?” Junhui says, slow and lazy. Jihoon doesn't know what he's asking for.

“I don't have a choice, do I?” He can hear the smile on Junhui’s lips.

“I want you to say you'll wait for me.” Jihoon sighs.

“I'll wait for you.”

“Good.” He yawns into the microphone, and Jihoon catches the bug and yawns back. “I miss you,” he repeats for what feels like the millionth time. “Like you wouldn't believe.”

“I miss you, too,” Jihoon echoes back. “Get some sleep.”

“I will.” For a long minute, there is no sound but the two of them breathing, waiting for the end of the call. Junhui breaks it with a light cough. “Thanks for letting me call.”

“How could I tell you no?” Junhui chuckles at him from all that way away, and Jihoon remembers something. “Happy birthday.” He chuckles again.

“I guess that's right,” he muses. Jihoon hears rustling on the other end, the running of a faucet, the soft footfalls of bare feet on tile. Another yawn. “I'll be back before you know it,” he says unconvincingly. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Jihoon says back, and then there is a distinct electronic pop and the call is dead. He's moments from rearranging himself to take an afternoon nap when the sticky sensation in his palm reaches him again and reminds him he still needs to wash up, so with a sigh, he heaves himself from the bed and trudges to the sink. If only ten days could pass like one.

Jihoon thinks a lot more about Junhui in the next week than he usually concerns himself with doing, about things like what kind of person he is and how different he is now from when they first met. In the beginning, he was Wonwoo’s friend, and Wonwoo was just some guy he kind of knew from his chem lecture who he accidentally talked to more than a handful of times and intentionally became friends with. Jihoon had no interest in meeting Junhui, who was a periphery of a periphery, and he hadn't been all too impressed upon meeting him, either. Junhui was loud, and he was hot and he knew it, and Jihoon was never a big fan of either quality, much less both at the same time. The first time they met each other was at a party, where Junhui shotgunned 7 beers and made a complete idiot of himself, and Jihoon left that night relieved he probably wouldn't have to see him again ever.

The first night, of course, had only been the beginning, and the next time they encountered each other, Junhui wasn't shotgunning anything, and he was a lot more quiet and a lot less cocky. He made jokes sometimes that were the  jokes of the shy, jokes of the awkward, subdued and buried under his own halfhearted self pity laugh, and those jokes were something 7 beers Junhui hadn't hinted might be hiding in that head of his. There was charm to those, and Jihoon hated that he liked it. Wonwoo told him not to bother even trying with Junhui when he brought it up, and that only made Jihoon want to even more. When they started dating, really dating, Wonwoo said it would never last, and now Jihoon sits in their apartment like it's more of a home than he's ever had, two years later. Things have a funny way of changing on you.

Those final ten days are longer than any days Jihoon has ever lived in his life. Even on the other occasions when Junhui’s suddenly been swept away to China by his family, it's never been for quite this long, and Jihoon feels it aching in his skin, that emptiness he's been without for so long. It's strange how Junhui’s morphed into something of a crutch after all this time, into something of a body part Jihoon could technically do without but would hate to have to ditch, and part of him thinks that might be what love is in some ways, to have that backboard to lean on even when you're eight thousand miles apart, even when leaning is as simple as getting each other off. Something about his skin no longer feels quite right when Junhui isn't around to touch it.

The very last day is the longest, just like Jihoon knew it would be. Junhui’s flight doesn't land until some awful time like three in the morning, and their apartment is 45 minutes away from the airport when you speed, which Jihoon knows Junhui’s parents do not. The hard part is staying awake once midnight hits, finding a way to pass the hours by that's distracting enough to keep him from looking at the clock every six minutes to see how close it is yet to touchdown, how close Junhui is to being back home. Nothing really works, no matter how many different methods he tries to get his mind off things, and eventually he settles on watching reruns of old Jeopardy episodes on the sketchy midnight game show channel until he feels a buzz in his pocket. His hands are antsy, scrambling for the phone to see the message on it.

 

_Just landed_

 

Jihoon blows out a breath through his nose. That means there's only customs and baggage claim and a painfully drawn out car ride standing in the way before Junhui is back, snoring alongside him in the bed that's felt too empty for too long. He keeps watching Jeopardy, keeps listening to those questions that are answers, and while he does, he wonders if he'll even recognize Junhui when he comes through the door.

Of course, he thinks. Obviously he will. After all, how much can a person change in three weeks? But he still wonders about it anyway, lets it gnaw at his overworked brain in the wee hours of the morning as he stares at the glowing questions on blue cards lighting up the room from the TV stand. There's always that fear that something won't be quite the same lurking under his thoughts, and Jihoon’s never been great with change. Moving into this apartment was a big step for him, a step he could only take because he had Junhui as a constant. The longer the hour draws on, the more it chills him. Stop being nervous. But he can't.

At long last, he hears a knock pounding at the door, a sign Junhui is home and too lazy to dig for his key, and all of Jihoon’s exhaustion springs out of his body when he shoots to his feet and hurries to the door to unlock it. There's comfort in the sight beyond the doorway, in the silhouette he recognizes perfectly.

Moonlight bounces off his hair, his suitcase, in his eyes that shouldn't be quite so open or alert. _Thank God_ , Jihoon thinks. _He's the same as always_. He trundles in with heavy steps and drags his suitcase behind him, closes the door with a heavy slam. For a time, he doesn't do much aside from look at Jihoon. “I'm home,” he says finally, worn out smile on his lips.

“Welcome home,” Jihoon says, and then there are arms around him, a body resting on him with its whole weight and holding him up all the same.

It's a bizarre sensation, being touched when you've gone what feels like lifetimes without it. Junhui’s arms are strong like he remembers, tough and absolutely made to be wrapped around another person, and he smells just the same as always, a scent Jihoon can no longer describe as anything but home. His lips are wet and heavy on Jihoon’s neck before trailing up under his ear, over his cheek, until eventually they find his own lips. Jihoon feels like it's been years since he kissed anyone, surging forward with his chest to chase back the slips of tongue Junhui slides past his lips, and he senses a burning in his chest that is inevitably making its way to his crotch. Now isn't the time for that, though. Junhui pulls back for air, cups Jihoon’s face in both hands, looks at him like he cares what he sees.

“God, I missed you,” he says, and Jihoon can tell he really means it. He's on the cusp of saying it back when Junhui starts kissing him again, beginning at the forehead and working his way back down, around the eye and to the lips, past the cheek and back down to the neck. “I feel like I haven't seen you in years,” he mumbles into the crook above Jihoon’s collarbone, breath electric, and Jihoon sighs while he sifts his fingers through his hair.

“Imagine how I feel,” he says, and Junhui’s laugh hums against his skin, buzzes around in his nerves.

“You missed me, didn't you?” he mutters. Jihoon thinks it's a useless question.

“You already know I did.” The hands at his neck creep down to his shoulders, slide down his back, plant on his ass and give it a squeeze. Jihoon can't help the breath he sucks in or the tremor in his groin, can't help anything when Junhui presses his body flush against Jihoon’s and breathes him in.

“I really want nothing more than for you to fuck me right now,” he says, honest as always, and it makes Jihoon blush a sickly scarlet, “but I'm so damn tired.” Jihoon knew he would be; Junhui’s never been able to sleep on planes, and he just had a couple flights longer than Jihoon will ever experience. He pats his back and starts shuffling toward the bedroom, grasping at Junhui’s suitcase handle while he does.

“I'm tired, too,” he admits, “so let's just go to sleep.” A grin crosses his lips when Junhui finally straightens up and follows his lead. “You'll need your energy for how well I'm gonna treat you later.” He watches Junhui shudder.

“Don't make me hard when I can't do anything about it,” he complains, rubbing at the back of his neck while they plod through the quiet apartment toward the back bedroom. His eyes flick to the TV for just a second before Jihoon turns it off, brows wiggling in curiosity. “You were watching Jeopardy?”

“Nothing else would distract me,” Jihoon explains.

“Distract you from what?”

“Wondering when you were gonna get home.” A breezy giggle stirs the air, and fingers find their way to thread through Jihoon’s hair, thumb stroke at his neck. Junhui’s hum is low.

“I know you hate to hear it,” he begins, “but you're so cute when you don't even try to be.”

“I'm not cute.”

“I love it about you.” Jihoon releases a sigh, and Junhui snickers again.

Junhui is too wiped out to do anything beyond peel his clothes off and flop into bed in nothing but his underwear, so that's what he does while Jihoon takes the time to slip into pajamas and brush his teeth, reducing himself to a lifeless lump atop the mattress. When Jihoon climbs in, he does so from the other side, stirs the mattress as little as possible to keep from rousing Junhui out of whatever state of half-slumber he's fallen into, and curls up to face the wall without venturing too far in and making the mattress creak at that awkward place it always does. Just when he's closed his eyes, he feels a few fingers stretching to tap at his spine, try and fail to get any sort of grip on his nightshirt.

“Don't be so far away,” Junhui whines, tugging at what little fabric he's able to grab. “Come closer.”

“You need to sleep,” Jihoon tells him.

“Can't I at least hold you?” The hand at his back gets a little more persistent, frantic, and Jihoon hears a low creak that says Junhui is moving closer. “It's been weeks, Jihoon.” For a long time now, Jihoon has been weaker to Junhui’s demands than he'd like to be.

“Fine,” he sighs, wiggling his way back. “You stay there. I'm coming closer.”

He pushes himself back over the sheets to the cacophonous sound of the mattress creaking, all the way until he can feel the warmth emanating from Junhui’s body. He stops once he thinks he's close enough, and when he does, he feels Junhui creep forward the last few inches to meet him, bare chest pressed full along Jihoon’s back, one arm creeping around under his neck and the other slinging over his waist to trace circles on his stomach. Jihoon is about to let it slide when he feels a moist pair of lips pressing to his neck, trailing in a small ring of spots and leaving soft wet smacks on the air when they do.

“Hey.”

“Just let me touch you,” he hums into Jihoon’s shoulder, leg sliding forward to fit between Jihoon’s, ankle to ankle. “Let me kiss you. This is how I want to fall asleep.” Jihoon sighs, rolls his head forward so Junhui’s lips can find a better angle on his neck.

“Promise you’ll be able to fall asleep?” He hums again, shifts his leg a little, presses another kiss.

“Cross my heart,” he mumbles. It falls silent for a while after that, nothing but the quiet sound of wet kisses on skin, the subdued rustle of sheets, occasional humming so low it blends into the empty sounds of the night. Junhui’s heartbeat resounds through Jihoon’s back and into his own chest, slow and heavy and weary. His words are butterflies landing on Jihoon’s skin. “I really missed you so much, you know,” he whispers.

“I missed you, too,” Jihoon yawns at him, tangling his fingers with the hand on his stomach. The heartbeat bleeding into his chest lulls him closer to sleep while Junhui kisses his neck again.

“I really love you,” he whispers into Jihoon’s veins.

“I love you, too,” Jihoon mutters back. “Go to sleep.” Junhui hums in acknowledgement, but his lips keep at their lethargic business of trailing in a small cluster around Jihoon’s neck, over as far as his shoulder. His hand keeps moving in easy circles over his stomach, chest keeps up its calm breathing, and in the midst of the hush of the very early morning, Jihoon’s consciousness fades to a soothing black.

In the morning, Jihoon wakes up to the very same kisses that put him to sleep, sloppy over his neck while Junhui nuzzles in with his nose, buries his forehead against Jihoon’s skin. Arms are still around him, a layer of armor to ward off the outside world, chest still pressed fully into his back, warmth of another body still leaking over into him in excess. Maybe for the first time, it sinks in that Junhui is finally home. He nestles himself closer to the frame behind him, grips with gusto at whatever hand he reaches first, revels in the sound of another person breathing.

“Morning,” Junhui mumbles into his shoulder, lips leaving a gentle peck there.

“Morning,” Jihoon says back, voice gravelly and still a little groggy. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. The lips at Jihoon’s shoulder get sloppier, more insistent, chest behind his back presses even closer, until his shirt starts to feel like it's becoming his skin. “Your voice is so sexy right now.” In an instant, Jihoon feels something pressing against his ass, firm and present, and he wheezes out a laugh.

“Ready to go from the second you wake up, huh?” Try as he might to ignore it, his own dick starts to stiffen in his pants at the feeling of Junhui subtly grinding against him, face flushing a beautiful crimson when he hums and it almost sounds like a moan.

“It's been so long, Jihoon,” he says, voice low and way too sexy. “We didn't have sex for three days before I left.” How very like him to remember. He moves his head until his lips are brushing against Jihoon’s ear in a low whisper. “I told you I wanted your cock in me bad enough to die.” A shiver runs all the way down Jihoon’s spine, splinters off and runs into his dick.

“What do you want right now?” he asks, wetting his lips. Junhui grinds his hips a little forward and grunts softly.

“What you promised,” he says lowly. “In the shower.” He licks his lips, and his tongue runs along the shell of Jihoon’s ear when he does. “I want to scream. I want your cum.” Jihoon’s entire body is vibrating. If he wasn't hard before, he definitely is now.

“Jesus,” Jihoon groans. “So early in the morning and you're already this nasty.”

“You love it,” Junhui sings, and Jihoon heaves a sigh. He does love it.

“Let me go brush my teeth first.”

“No.” The grip around Jihoon’s waist tightens. “You don't need to.”

“I have morning breath.”

“That doesn't make me not want to kiss you.”

“It's gonna taste gross.”

“You always taste good.” With that, he rolls Jihoon over and locks onto his eyes for a few seconds before leaning in and kissing him, full mouth and full tongue, hungry and fevered. It tastes gross and it also doesn’t, weird and also comfortable, different and usual. Jihoon doesn’t mind it at all, and he’s sure it’s only because it’s Junhui that he doesn’t. He chases the tongue in his mouth back with his own to catch that new flavor, Junhui’s hands firm on his neck, until at last Junhui distances himself with labored breaths, cock hard against Jihoon’s thigh.

“The shower,” he pants.

The tiles are cold when they step in, freezing against the soles of Jihoon’s feet and icy when his elbow bumps into the wall, and it only gets colder when Junhui turns the water on, frigid as it always is at the first use of the faucet. Jihoon shudders at every chill drop that splashes on him, shielding himself behind the human wall that is Junhui’s body.

“Why does the water have to be on?” he hisses when Junhui sticks his foot out to test the temperature.

“There's no point in fucking in the shower if the water’s not on,” Junhui scoffs. “We may as well just be doing it at the front door.” His eyes fly wide open for a single second. “Can we do that sometime?”

“You're so gross.”

“I'll take that as a maybe,” he says with an impish grin, and then he suctions his mouth to Jihoon once more.

After eternities, the water finally warms up almost to a scald, and Junhui edges them back into it, running his hands through Jihoon’s dampening hair and pulling him into kiss after rough kiss, warm rivulets trickling down over their shoulders and backs and down to their feet. Kissing is hard with all that water pouring down, forces them to work extra hard for the breaths they break apart for, blinds them so they have to feel to find each other in the spray. Slowly, slowly, Junhui’s large hands start to make their way down, past his chest and hips and eventually settling on his ass, sliding around to his thighs. Jihoon feels lips at the junction where his leg meets his pelvis when he rubs water out of his eyes to look below him.

Junhui is on his knees, mouth busy on Jihoon’s thighs, one hand creeping over from where it sits to circle around Jihoon’s erection, give it a few gentle tugs that make him hiss, throw his head back under the spray. His attention is caught again when he feels a tongue at his shaft, a long, heavy lick from the base to the tip that sends his breath rattling out through his teeth. Junhui chuckles, lips humming against his dick.

“You're so fucking hot,” Jihoon rasps at him, tangling his fingers in the dark curls of hair. Without warning, Junhui takes him into his mouth, moans around his length and bobs his head until he elicits a low groan before coming off with a pop.

“I missed your cock so bad,” he growls, jerking it once, and heat floods Jihoon’s face at the hungry look in his eyes, lustful and shameless. He can't believe there could be someone who wants him so badly, who looks at him like that. All he wants to do is kiss Junhui again, but he goes right back to busying his mouth on Jihoon’s erection. His moans are loud around the thickness in his mouth, vibrate through every fiber of Jihoon’s being, tongue heavy everywhere it strokes against him, and before too long, he's gotten himself into a steady rhythm, Jihoon’s hips jerking to meet him every time, tip of his dick knocking against the back of Junhui’s throat. His loudest moan comes when he tears himself free again and replaces his mouth with a hand. The other hand finds its way to his mouth, sticks two fingers in for him to suck on.

“Christ,” he babbles around his knuckles, slicked up with spit, face being pelted with rain from the showerhead. Jihoon pushes his wet hair back out of his eyes, combs through it while he watches Junhui suck his own fingers with lidded eyes and heavy breaths. What a view, what a view. “I’m going insane. I need you in me right now.” He lowers his fingers to his ass and inserts one without hesitation, eyes closing, sigh crawling out between clenched teeth, then starts fucking himself on it under the spray of the water.

Parts of Jihoon just like to watch. He likes to take in how good Junhui looks pleasuring himself, how absolutely gorgeous and needy, forehead wrinkled up and eyelids fluttering, lips slightly parted to let out gasping breaths. It turns him on more than hearing Junhui’s wrecked voice does, to see him so close to submerging completely under those waves of pleasure, cheeks pink and chest shaking. Other parts of him can't stand to watch alone. His hand moves to grab Junhui’s chin before he thinks about it.

“Get up.” It's barely audible above the falling water, but Junhuis’s face goes deep red at the command, bottom lip quivering while he rises to obey. Jihoon’s deduced over time that he gets off on being told what to do in that stern voice even if though he's never said it explicitly, so he tries to do it whenever he can even if it feels weird to do something so akin to giving orders during sex. When he's back on his feet, he looks to Jihoon for his next instructions with eyes wide and glittery, steaming spray dripping down his burning cheeks. “Turn around,” Jihoon tells him. “Brace yourself against the wall.”

“What,” Junhui chokes, doing as he's told regardless, “are you gonna do?”

“You’ll see,” Jihoon tells him. He plants his hands firmly on Junhui’s hips, thumbs pressing into the cheeks of his ass, and after only a moment more of pause, he drops to his knees.

It's something Junhui has never explicitly asked for, but Jihoon knows well enough what he likes by now, so he mostly thinks Junhui is just too timid to ask Jihoon to eat his ass out since he's never offered before. Truthfully, Jihoon himself has never been too keen on the idea of doing it, but if it's Junhui, he's willing. When he thinks about the way Junhui will react to it, he's even more willing. With determination, he slowly spreads his cheeks apart and leans his head forward, and in a single deliberate move, he thrusts his tongue into Junhui’s asshole.

Junhui chokes on his breath immediately, inhales in a rush that comes straight back out in a lewd groan. “Oh my God,” he sputters, hips spasming and involuntarily grinding his ass back toward the tongue inside him. “Holy shit, Jihoon, I—” A high whine rings through the air when Jihoon probes his tongue a little deeper, and that sound gets Jihoon to drop one of his hands and start touching himself, spread the beading precum at the tip over the rest of his shaft.

Every movement of his tongue makes Junhui’s body shake, knees wobbly and chest heaving, arms against the shower wall to hold himself up but dying to give up and reach for his dick to stroke himself. Jihoon can feel himself getting close at the way Junhui tries to buck his hips forward to find friction on the wall but can't quite get close enough to do it, groaning every time in a voice that makes Jihoon’s insides quiver. “Fuck,” he cries, and his voice cracks in the middle of the word. It makes Jihoon’s head feel light.

When Jihoon thinks he's done all he can with his tongue, he replaces it with a few fingers, crooking them as deep inside Junhui as he can get and sending tremors through his whole body. Junhui’s voice devolves into a near-constant wail, rippling along with the flow of the water down his spine, sometimes quiet and low and others building into a frantic almost-shriek. Jihoon forces one finger in deeper than the others and pushes all the breath straight out of his lungs.

“Jihoon,” Junhui mewls, rocking back onto the fingers in his ass eagerly. “Your—oh, fuck—your fingers—”

“Feel good?” Jihoon asks, thrusting them in a little more roughly and making Junhui squeal. “You like my fingers in you?” Junhui’s voice stretches in a long, wobbly _ah_ that makes Jihoon’s cock twitch.

“I love them,” Junhui pants, hips undulating desperately in search of something they can't have. “Your hands,” he grunts. “So pretty, those fingers. But I—shit—but—”

“But what?” Jihoon is teasing him, and Junhui sighs because he knows it. The falling water burns everywhere it touches, but Jihoon’s body can't get any hotter than Junhui is already making it.

“More,” Junhui begs. “I want your cock.” He gulps, throws his head back when Jihoon’s fingertip grazes somewhere sweet again. “I need your cock,” he rephrases, needy and almost slurred, pressing his forehead back to the tiled wall to try to cool it down. “I need it inside me now.” Now it's Jihoon’s turn to gulp, erection throbbing in his hand.

“How bad?” he asks, throat dry despite the water everywhere. “How bad do you need it?”

“Enough to die,” Junhui tells him. He's a broken record, an instant replay of himself. “God, Jihoon, I need it now. I need you in me.” Without warning, Jihoon pulls out his fingers and rises to his feet again, lines his slick dick up with Junhui’s asshole. Junhui gasps like his world is falling apart.

“You're sure you want me to cum inside?” Jihoon asks. Junhui bobs his head so fast it nearly falls off.

“If I can't trust you now,” he breathes, stumbling through the words, “who can I trust ever?” There might be a flaw somewhere in that logic, but Jihoon’s heart is tugged too hard to let him think about it. Junhui pushes his ass back closer to Jihoon. “Give it to me. Give me everything.” Letting his eyes fall shut, Jihoon pushes in.

The feeling is overwhelming after such a long time without sex when they normally fuck like rabbits, every cell in Jihoon’s body lighting up and catching fire that even the shower’s spray can't extinguish. When he bottoms out, he's half convinced he's died and gone to heaven, head soaring through the clouds far above him. He's ripped back to earth when he hears Junhui moan, soft and quiet but louder than everything else in the whole world.

“Please,” he whimpers. Jihoon doesn't have to wonder what he's asking for. He knows Junhui like the back of his hand, every sound he makes and every part of his body, better than he knows himself sometimes. He knows exactly where to touch and exactly how, when to move and when to stop, what to be and how to be it. With one hand placed inside Junhui’s thigh to hold him stable, he wraps the other hand around his cock and starts moving his hips.

His pace is fast like he knows Junhui likes it, hard like he knows the both want it, and from the very first thrust, he feels like he might burst into flames. The tight heat around his dick is too much, way too much, feels so good he can't tell if he's really alive anymore, drives him ever faster while he pounds into Junhui from behind, ever deeper, so much he loses sense of everything else. He hopes his hand on Junhui’s dick is moving, hope it's moving fast enough, but he can't tell at all. Junhui moans like he has to, calls out Jihoon’s name like it's the only word he knows.

“Just like that,” he cries, dangerously close to breaking apart, clenching his ass around Jihoon’s cock and driving him insane. “Keep going just like that, oh my God, fuck. Jihoon, I'm gonna—fuck, I'm so—”

“You feel so good,” Jihoon groans, pressing a kiss to his back, his shoulders, gripping as hard as he can at the dick Junhui’s arms are too busy to pay attention to. “God, Junhui, you're fucking amazing.”

“Your cock,” Junhui whimpers, weak. “So good.” He sounds like he might be close to tears, voice so overwrought with need the words are dissolving as they run off his tongue. “I love when—fuck—when you're inside me—oh my God.” He screams when Jihoon bucks his hips up at a steeper angle, entire lower body spasming and nearly bringing him crashing to the ground. “Fuck, right there!” he shrieks, entire body vibrating. “Fuck me right there! Oh, God!”

Jihoon does his best to keep nailing that spot, thrusts frenzied and erratic, and Junhui howls until Jihoon is sure his throat must be sore, a high pitch that the neighbors are bound to be hearing, but Jihoon can't bring himself to care. The wet slapping sound of each thrust is amplified by the presence of the water, and it spurs him on infinitely, pounding hard into Junhui until he feels his gut start to tighten, abdomen heat up.

“I'm close,” he tells Junhui, stroking his dick with a fevered hand and a death grip. “I'm gonna cum.”

“Do it,” Junhui pleads, shoulders shuddering. “Inside. I want it so bad.” Those are the last words he needs before he feels himself letting go, feels his semen squeezing out to fill Junhui’s ass.

Junhui moans at the feeling, loud and louder, and Jihoon keeps thrusting to ride out the rest of his orgasm, which only draws the moan louder. The feeling is weird, all that sticky squelching inside not limited to the confines of a condom, but Junhui sounds like he likes it, voice a blissful cry as Jihoon keeps jerking at his dick.

“Oh, God!” he shouts. “There it is—your cum is—oh my God, I love it.” The longer he goes, the more he unravels, the less he can string his words together. Jihoon can tell how close he is now, and all he has in mind is taking him to the finish. “I love it—I love you—Jihoon, I'm so—fuck—fuck!”

With a final shudder, Jihoon feels it, the sticky strings of Junhui’s cum shooting out onto the wall and dripping over his fingers, body weakening into a slump in an instant. His chest is heaving when Jihoon pulls out, when cum drips out of his ass and down his leg with the water from the shower, and he turns around and leans his head against the tile to hold himself up, eyes closed, sinking down a few inches with labored breaths puffing out to join the steam. One hand gropes around blindly until it stumbles across Jihoon’s neck and pulls him into a sloppy kiss.

“I love you,” he mumbles on Jihoon’s lips before kissing him again.

They clean up after that, decide to take a real shower together, massaging shampoo into each other's scalps and cleaning the cum out of Junhui’s asshole. They're too spent to wash up quickly, and by the time they wander out in search of towels to dry themselves off, the water is long since gone cold, huddling their bodies together as they shiver in exhausted nakedness. Despite the heat of the world outside, they change into thick winter clothes in the wake of the shower’s freezing conclusion, thick sweatpants and comfortable sweaters, and tuck themselves back under the covers of the bed, eyes drooping closed. Junhui wraps himself around behind Jihoon as with the night previous, planting lazy kisses all over the back of his damp neck.

“Your shampoo smells good,” he mutters, nose pressed to Jihoon’s wet hair, hand drawing lines up and down his side with light fingertips.

“Thanks,” Jihoon tells him. “It's yours.” Junhui laughs at that, keeps tap dancing with his fingers on Jihoon’s side, keeps kissing around the top of his spine and smiling against his skin. Jihoon likes things like this, bathed in the afterglow, sometimes more than he likes the actual sex, when Junhui is tired and touchy and sweet and they have the luxury to afford being able to take a nap. He feels a yawn puff against his back.

“I'm so fucking tired now,” he says, “but that was worth it.”

“Everything you hoped it would be?” Jihoon asks, squeezing his thigh. Junhui’s breath against the back of his neck is warm but cool.

“Yeah,” he says, very honestly, combing fingers through Jihoon’s slowly drying hair. “You were so hot. I don't think I've ever cum that hard before.” He loves to have his lips occupied, landing butterflies of kisses always in this same spot where Jihoon’s neck melts into his shoulders. “I don't think I could’ve ever asked anyone else to do that if it wasn't you.”

“Do what?”

“You know,” Junhui hums. “Fuck me in the shower. Cum inside. Things like that.” One thing Jihoon thinks is interesting about Junhui is that he never gets shy about anything, not even when Jihoon is starting to feel a little shy about it like he is now. He owns everything without shame all the time, and Jihoon thinks maybe that's a very good quality even if it embarrasses him more often than not. “I've always wanted to try them, but I never felt like I could ask anyone before you.”

“Guess I'm just special,” Jihoon says breezily, closing his eyes and letting his head loll.

“You are,” Junhui agrees, unnecessarily earnest. “And I really, really love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jihoon says back, just like always, quick and casual. Another flurry of kisses.

“I mean it,” Junhui insists, hand still trailing over his side. “I think you're the love of my life. I really do.”

Notoriously, Jihoon is not good with these situations. He feels things just like everyone else, sure, but he has a lot more trouble voicing them than a lot of people do, has a lot of trouble figuring out what to say to things like what Junhui is saying to him now. All that happens is that his cheeks go deep pink, stomach clutches, heart stutters, and he thinks he should be two years past being shy and clamming up when Junhui says something sweet, but this is also a little heavier than the usual stream of saccharine, a little more serious in the way he says it. Junhui always says things like he really means them, and that’s both comforting and scary. When Jihoon doesn’t speak, he always knows to fill up the silence.

“When it was 4 a.m. in China and I called you, that’s what I was really thinking about,” he confesses, voice low and soothing. “I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about you so much, about how nothing is fun without you. I wanted you to be there so bad, and I wanted to call and tell you that.” The lips on Jihoon’s back morph into a grin. “But then I got hard thinking about hearing your voice, so that kind of derailed everything.”

Now Jihoon takes the opportunity to laugh, to sink back more into Junhui’s arms. “You’re so you,” he says, and Junhui laughs back and pats his hair.

“I know I am,” he says, “but you love it.” He waits for Jihoon to say something back, patient and still, hands and lips paused momentarily.

“I do love it,” Jihoon admits. He can feel his ears are bright red. “And I love you. A lot.”

“You did miss me, right? When I was gone.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Another squeeze to Junhui’s thigh. “There’s no way I couldn’t miss you.”

“I missed you, too. So much.” He’s said it a hundred times by now, at least. “You should come with me next time. I’m sure my parents would like it, too.”

“To China?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t have a passport.” Nothing is funny, but Junhui laughs.

“Neither did I before I got one,” he says. “It’s not grad school, Jihoon. You can get a passport.” Jihoon hums.

“I’ll think about it,” he muses. Junhui chuckles into his spine.

“Fine,” he says around a yawn, patting Jihoon’s side. “Sleep on it. But when you wake up, I want you to say, ‘I would _love_ to go to China with you, Junhui,’ and, ‘I can’t wait to go get my passport immediately.’” Jihoon guffaws while Junhui nuzzles into his neck, breath evening out until it sounds like he might be close to sleeping.

He doesn’t really need to sleep on it. All present laws of being dictate he’ll be agreeing to get a passport, and Jihoon has no problem with it. After all, for a long time now, he’s been weaker to Junhui’s demands than he'd like to be.


End file.
